CHAPTER TEN
Jonathan swiped a long strand of hair away from his nose, rolled, and drew the soft body sharing his bed closer to his chest. Well, not exactly his bed. Although the sun shone bright through the windows he was still firmly entrenched in Phoebe’s wide tester, but he refused to creep away before she woke. It was nice here, cozy without the world looking down upon them. Contentment trickled through him as he dragged in a deep breath of sex laden air.
His body thickened at the memory of the previous night’s pleasure. How had Phoebe survived without sexual intimacy before sharing her bed with him? The lady’s appetite rivaled his, and he simply couldn’t keep his hands off her delicious curves. Jonathan let his fingers slide over the smooth flesh of her hip. Phoebe shuddered, hands spreading over his chest unconsciously.
The reaction brought a smile to his face. Even in sleep she clung to him. What he wouldn’t give to stay with her forever. Jonathan practiced the phrases in his head that he wanted to utter when she woke. He wanted his proposal to be perfect so she would say yes straight away.
They could have the banns called and marry in three weeks. After that, he wondered if she’d enjoy a wedding tour to Brighton. But all he really needed was to know she was his to touch and protect and love. A solid, well-made bed like this one wouldn’t go astray either.
Jonathan glanced up at her bedchamber ceiling, feeling more comfortable here than in his own guestroom. No doubt the presence of Phoebe made him feel so at home. She shifted, her breasts brushed his chest and a ragged sigh passed her lips. Intrigued, he inched back a bit to see her face.
Phoebe slept still, but if he were not mistaken she dreamed.
Her body grew restless against him, hips arching toward his. Slowly, careful not to waken her, he inserted his leg between hers. Phoebe’s thighs clamped around his leg and her sex pressed against his skin. Amused, Jonathan decided to see how far his lady could go in her fantasies before she wakened.
He urged her with his hands, sliding her sex against his firm thigh until he grew slick with her desire. She woke with a gasp, blinked, and then glanced up at him guiltily.
“Good morning.”
Phoebe’s head dipped to his chest. “Good morning.”
Feeling altogether too excited to let the moment pass, Jonathan rocked her against his thigh again. “Were you having a wicked dream?”
“Oh no,” she whispered.
Jonathan flipped her about so her back snuggled into his chest, prodding her sex with his cock. Instinctively, Phoebe settled his cockhead in place and he pressed into her tight heat slowly. Ignoring the urge to thrust hard and deep, he set about increasing her pleasure. He slipped one hand over her sex, the other cupped her full breast. A satisfied moan left her lips. Jonathan thrust into her, keeping the movements calm, building her arousal higher.
She seemed impatient with his slow loving because her hips rocked against him eagerly. But he kept her passion under his control, making love to her slowly, sliding his fingers over her hard nub and nipples. When he pressed harder and pinched, she buried her face into the pillow. Her moans and gasps grew louder and louder around the muffling pillow until she tensed and appeared to strangle as her release overtook her.
Jonathan straightened Phoebe’s hair from around her face and he turned her head so she had to see him. Her dazed expression and rapid pant brought another smile to his lips. He’d definitely take her in the mornings when they married.
Biting his lip to hold in the urge to propose right that very minute, he slid clinging strands of hair from her brow and pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek. The taste of her sweat damp skin on his lips heightened his arousal so he thrust again.
A loud bang on the wall made them both jump.
Jonathan glanced at the door that connected Phoebe’s bedchamber with his as a male voice rose in anger.
Cautiously, Jonathan slipped from Phoebe’s body and bed to stare at the connecting door. Yes, he had remembered to lock it, but something definitely odd what happening in his bedchamber. That room should have been locked from the inside. No one should be in there.
“I’ll kill Selwood for this.” Warminster’s voice threatened from the next room.
A female voice cried out piteously in answer and Jonathan glanced at Phoebe only to find her skin white with shock. She stumbled from the bed and reached for her night
gown and wrapper, throwing them on carelessly in her rush. When her beautiful skin was covered respectably, she tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear to it.
Just as quietly, Jonathan reached for his breaches and slipped them over his hips, pushing his softening member into the tight confines. Unfortunately, in their haste to make love last night there were buttons missing from the garment and they wouldn’t stay on his hips properly. That could be embarrassing should it be discovered. He snagged his shirt from beneath the bed and threw it over his head. The long linen would hide the state of his breaches, but what could he do to hide himself should Warminster decide to include Phoebe in whatever drama was happening next door?
Jonathan glanced toward his lover and found her backing away from the door. She glanced at him and then frantically waved her hands in the direction of the bed. Did she want him in it or under it?
Under it, he decided, as she snatched up his cravat stockings and boots and shoved them into the nearest drawer. Jonathan fell to the floor and scrambled under the solid bed. He moved until he hid in the exact center and then the world grew dark as Phoebe straightened the bedding so no one could see him beneath. He watched the pink tips of her toes move about him and then she disappeared from sight.
~ * ~
Phoebe’s heart beat so loud that she feared she might faint. Next door, Warminster was ranting about Lady Jocelyn sleeping with Jonathan, and very soon everyone in the house would suspect that something was seriously amiss. She had to take steps to stop this disaster. She couldn’t let Warminster convict his best friend of such a scandalous act.
Frantically, Phoebe straightened her tumbled hair into some semblance of decorum and approached the connecting door. Taking a deep breath, she turned the key and knob and stepped into the fray.
Lady Jocelyn sat on Jonathan’s rumpled bed, sheets pulled up to her chest, defiance clear on her face. Phoebe’s stepson appeared quite without his usual disguise. There was none of his usual foppish charm or elegance on display.